Final Wish
by Carpe-Plectrum
Summary: After his death in the Battle of Five Armies, Thorin is given a final wish. Post Battle of Five Armies, Thorin point of view.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N- Hello, again. This will be a couple chapter fic, primarily about Thorin. This chapter will be shorter since it is a tester. Post Battle of Five Armies. Thorin POV. **

**Disclaimer- If you don't recognize it, it's mine. I do not own the Hobbit, or the Simarllion, since there is a good deal of Silmarillion stuff in here. Rights to the books and movie go to Tolkien and Peter Jackson, respectively**.

* * *

It was cold. The ice shifted beneath me as Bilbo rocked back and forth next to me, whimpering oh panic. "No, Thorin, no, you can't die. Look, the eagles are coming! Look- Thorin?"

I couldn't move. I could only stare up at the silhouettes of the eagles as everything around me grew blurrier.

My nephew, Kili. My sister, Dís. My cousin, Dain. What would happen to them? I had seen Fili die. The only one I knew for sure was alive was Bilbo, whose sobs were becoming faint and muffled. I was dying. The cold from the ice and the pain from my chest and head faded, as did my vision. I was no longer breathing.

Then everything shut off into blackness.

* * *

I don't know how long I was unconscious. It seemed like a few minutes, but for all I knew it could have been years, or only a few seconds.

My pain was gone, as was the cold.

Blinking, I sat up and looked around. I was in complete darkness, except a strangely glowing path that extended as far as I could see in front of me. I frowned. There was no way it could be lit, especially in a way that didn't show anything else surrounding. Taking a deep breath, I stood up and walked to the path which lay a few paces to my left, extending forever both directions. As I stood, the light dully shone on my armor,l which was shining and unbroken. I ran my hand through my hair. It was clean, and the slash across my forehead was gone. As were the other scars on the parts of my arms that weren't covered in armor. "Okay, then." I muttered, and took a step forward on the path. In an instant, the sky was full of stars, far too close and blindingly bright. I was standing in front of an iron gate thrown wide open, with walls extending as far as I could see to both sides. Right inside the doorway stood two men, far too tall and radiating power. One wore gold with shining eyes and a short brown beard, looking a bit like an oversized dwarf, and the other was hooded and cloaked.

"Hello, Thorin Oakenshield. I am Mahal, the Creator of Dwarves and lord of Stone and Craft." To my surprise, the man's voice was quite normal, with an easygoing, conversational tone. Unsure what to do, I bowed. "At your service."

Mahal smiled down at me, and the other man removed his hood, revealing a pale face with long dark hair and completely black eyes. "I am Mandos." He said, barely above a whisper, "The lord of the dead."

Still rather unsure what to do, I bowed again. "At your service."

"Do not worry about your family, Thorin son of Thrain. The Valar watch the line of Durin, as they always have. Your cousin Dain lives, and he will rule Erebor."

"Kili?"

"He died in the battle," said Mahal gently. "You will see him again soon. But first, walk with us."

I couldn't keep quiet anymore. "If you made me, why did you make me so flawed? My temper, my arrogance; I fell into gold fever. Couldn't you have stopped that?"

He nodded, watching me carefully. "I could have made you different, but I did not. Both your good and your bad characteristics make you who you are. Would you want to me someone else?"

"Perhaps," I said defiantly.

He shook his head and said, "You do not understand, my son. You are Thorin Oakenshield, and, well, perhaps you will see. I have something to show you."

The two Valar stared walking forward, into the blackness behind the silver wall. The path did not continue there, but I took a step forward.

Once again, the scenery changed.

This time it was a sunny hill, with a blue sky and fluffy clouds overhead. I could hear distant laughter, but had no idea where it was coming from. "Thorin," called Mahal, and I caught up with them. "You were a great dwarf, a great warrior. You suffered much, and gained little. Eru has never looked very highly upon your kind, but he has given me permission to give you a gift before you pass completely on."

He stopped waking and looked down at me. Mandos stood nearby, staring off into the distance, doing nothing. I wasn't even sure why he was there.

"This is Mandos' domain, Thorin," said Mahal, answering my thoughts, "It is his kingdom, so he is accompanying us. Now." He waved his hand and a full length mirror with an ornately carved golden frame appeared two feet in front of me. I stopped walking as quickly as I could, putting a hand out to steady myself. My fingers brushed the mirror, but they went through it instead of touching glass. I shivered, but the Vala did not seem to notice. "I will allow you to look into the mirror twice and see anything of any time or place you want to be. The mirror shows anything. Things that are. Things that have been. Things that will be. And even things which never come to pass."

I stare at the mirror, and my reflection flickered and disappeared. The mirror fogged up into a swirling mist, and I turn to face the two Valar, my mind racing. "What will happen to the surviving members of the company over the next several years," I said, then took a deep breath. _Things which never come to pass,_ he had said.

"And what would have happened if the dragon had not come."

Mahal smiled, and even Mandos scowled a little less heavily. "Wise choices, Thorin. You shall see what you wish to see. Come forward. Walk into the mirror."

Normally, I would have scoffed, but I took a step forward and looked into the mirror. The fog turned into a thick smoke in a frame which smelled of old scrolls and dust. I could just barely see the dim figure of a dwarf on a throne, and stepped through.

* * *

**A/N- Okay, so there are probably some people out there who know nothing more about the Valar other than that Gandalf mentioned them in the Two Towers, and I understand. To make things more clear, I'll give a short description of the ones in this fic.**

**Eru- Also called "the One." Created Middle earth and the rest of the Valar. Basically the guy who is in charge of everything.**

**Mahal- The lord of stone and craft. He created the dwarves, and is sometimes worshiped as a god by them, though he is technically not. A dwarf like Thorin would know a good deal about him. I will admit that he is/ will be mildly out of character in this fic.**

**Mandos- The lord of the dead. He is pretty much the Hades of Middle earth.**

**I'm not an expert on the subject to the Valar, but I can at least try to answer any questions. Reviews are appreciated, and thank you for your time!**


	2. Chapter 2

The first thing I noticed when stepped through the mirror-portal was that my body disappeared. I glanced down, and couldn't see my hands or legs or torso, and tripped and fell. It made no noise, but I felt a hot, sticky sensation on my face and knew my nose was bleeding. I tried to get up again, but the fact I couldn't see my hand bothered me so much that I fell flat on my stomach again, my cheek hitting the cold stone floor. Mahal materialized sitting beside me with a sympathetic look. The pain in my nose vanished instantly. "Not as graceful as the hobbit, I see. Well, here." Standing up, he shot me an inquisitive look and I could see myself again, though it was rather gray and blurry. "You are now in the hall of the King under the Mountain. However, you are invisible to all but us two. Mortal eyes are too dull to perceive me, and I set up a loophole so your brain would think it sees your body but it doesn't."

"Then how can you see me?" I couldn't help but ask.

Mahal chuckled sadly. "The Valar can see everything, my child. It is less of a blessing than one like yourself may guess. But that is not why we are here. Look around you. Once you see it ask, we will move on."

The room was brightly lit, with many different people scattered about. Dain stood in front of the throne, with Bard and Thranduil on either side of him. Dain was speaking about me and my nephews, and the company stood with tears in their eyes, except for Ori and Bilbo, who were full out crying. I ran forward several steps, wanting to embrace Bilbo and comfort him, but i knew he couldn't see me. I looked back up at Dain, and noticed the Arkenstone wasn't in its place above the throne.

"It was placed in your grave, along with Orcrist. Thranduil wanted you to have it in your final moments." Mahal took several steps forward, and the chamber melted into a circular stone cave, where I lay on a carved table with Orcrist on my hand and the Arkenstone on my chest. On either side of the table lie Fili and Kili, with their weapons. Bilbo stood in the doorway, holding a red wax candle. He sniffed, and spoke. "Thorin- I know you can't hear me. But I'm about to leave. I'm probably never going to see you again. I will never forget you. I will think of you every time I sit in my armchair or read my books or look at my tree. Farewell, king under the mountain and his heirs. Thank you-" his voice broke, and tears began running down his face. "-for- everything." He slid down the wall and began to weep, the candle beside him fluttering. Mahal started to walk forward again, but I paused, watching Bilbo.

"Will he be okay?"

Mahal raised his eyebrows. "Do you want to see what happens to them or not?"

I ran up next to him, and we were in the throne room once more, only this time the were less people, mostly Ironfoot dwarves. Mahal did not stop walking, however, and I only got glimpses of each of the dwarves. Dain ruled wisely in the remade chambers of Erebor. Many of the dwarves from the company were lords. Gloin's son, Gimli, grew to become a strong warrior and often carried messages to other kingdoms. Bard rebuilt the city of Dale with the gold given to him by Dain, and Thranduil holed up in his kingdom, as usual. I didn't see Balin or Oin or Ori, however, and turned to ask Mahal about it. "Be patient, Thorin. You shall see the rest of your company soon."

The room shifted again, though not as much. Balin sat on a stool in a room full of scrolls and books of all sorts, with chests around the circumference. Some of the documents were on fresh, clean paper, and others were so old they looked like they would crumble to dust if they were touched. Ori sat at a desk, writing in Elvish runes. "Several years after the Mountain was taken back, Balin, Ori, and Oin marched to Moria, drove back the Orcs, and reclaimed the kingdom for three years," explained Mahal.

Balin leaned back and began to speak. "Year Two- the eighteenth of April. We delved further into the mountain and found a large seam of gold, though no míthril. Fein opened a small tunnel and was shot by a goblin. He was laid to rest by the riverbank, and the tunnel was closed off. As we expected, goblins live down here still."

He paused, and Ori finished writing down what he had said. Mahal shook his head sadly and started on. I frowned and walked up next to him. "What's wrong? Why only three years?"

"In three years they will awaken another force. A demon of fire and shadow. It shall destroy them and their city. But Balin shall die before them, and will not see it."

"A Balrog?" I whispered, dread churning inside of me. The horrible legends of the evil spirits were rarely whispered, and few knew their names.

Mahal nodded.

Frustration built up. "Why can't you do anything? You are one of the Valar, you can stop it!"

He raised his eyebrows. "Just because one can do something doesn't mean one should. If the Valar stepped in every bad situation, what would the world be like?"

"Much better."

"To some. But we do not have time to discuss morals and values here. Mandos waits for us by the mirror. Come, you want to see a certain hobbit."

I caught one last glimpse of Balin before the room faded. I wouldn't see him for more than four or five years. Mahal hadn't made it clear when he started for Moria, but Balin looked so much older that it couldn't be for a while. The grays and blacks of the room mingled into green and blue, and we stepped into the garden of Bag End. Bilbo was on his knees in front of a pot of soil, patting it down. Pouring a cup of water on it, he said, "See, Thorin? It will grow, and I-" He sniffed, a sat back with the pot in his lap, rocking gently back and forth. Mahal stepped next to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. Despite the fact he couldn't see the Valar, Bilbo smiled a little and put the pot in the sun. I walked up to the oblivious Bilbo and turned to Mahal. "Will he always mourn?"

He shook his head. "No. He will live eighty years past this time, and though he will never forget you, he will not always mourn you. Do not worry about him, Thorin. He was blessed by your adventures." Eru suffered and looked east. "If it weren't for him Middle Earth would have turned out much differently."

"What do you mean?" I thought he meant something about Erebor and how if it weren't for him the Mountain would not have been reclaimed, but something different seemed to be on Mahal's mind.

"That too, but something more important as well. But you do not need to know. Watch."

Time passed, and I saw several scenes in his life. He adopted his nephew, who came to live with him. The dwarves came to visit, and he occasionally left the Shire, but never very long. He wrote a book about our adventures. The tree grew, and he took it out the pot and placed it in the meadow behind the Hill. "This is sixty years later," said Mahal. "His one hundred and eleventh birthday." Dozens of hobbits were under the tree, dancing or eating or talking. "Hobbits live such simple, innocent lives. After this Bilbo goes back to Rivendell and lives there for twenty more years, before sailing to the Grey Havens, where he dies. He lives a happy and long life, as does good tree. They call it the party tree."

**A/N- Happy Easter! As usual, I own nothing but the scenarios in which I place the characters. The next chapter will be the final request, what I think would have happened if Smaug had not come. Thanks for reading, and reviews are appreciated!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N- Thank you all for your support. I do not own anything but the situation in which I place Tolkien's characters. **

We stepped back into the grassy field where Mandos stood alone with his arms crossed. "Now, your second wish. I will accompany you again, but things will be different, so you can understand more clearly. Remember how I said I let bad things happen? I think you will understand more. Now."

I walked through the mirror again, but instead of my body sliding out of existence, I felt myself being jerked, then smashed into something warm and strangely shaped. The room came into focus and I sat up, my head spinning. I was in a sickroom, with several dwarves nearby. Mahal sat with his legs crossed on a table not far away, shrunk some to fit in the low-ceiling tunnel. A dwarf ran up as I sat up, and my breath caught on my chest when I saw it was Oin. Muttering to himself, the healer dabbed my right temple with a damp rag. I frowned as a jolt of pain shot through my head, and reached up to brush a jagged cut across the side of my forehead. "Careful, Oplin, my lad. That was a nasty fall you had in the mines. You're lucky to be alive."

I ran my fingers over the cut again, confusion filling me. "Oplin? Oin, it's Thorin. You know its me. What happened?"

Oin's gentle compassion settled into a subtle scowl at the mention of my name, and he shook his head. "No, my lad. You're not that-" his voice dropped noticeably- "_prince_. You must have hit harder than I thought."

"But I am!" I protested, feeling like a child. "What's going on? Did the dragon-" Oin froze, as did the other dwarves in the room. They stopped talking, moving, and even breathing. Mahal jumped off the table with an irritated huff. "Thorin, no. In your limited understanding, this is not real. This is a projection, a Might-Have-Been, but you can't just go around completely denying everything they say. To them, you are a simple miner who was injured in an accident. Just move the way the current leads. _Now,_ let's try this again."

He slid back on the counter and snapped, and Oin started dabbing my cut again. "-you're lucky to be alive."

Fine. If the Vala wanted me to play doing, I would play along. "I'm feeling okay. I can't really remember much. Umm... What happened? What's going on?"

Oin tutted and squeezed the rag into a bowl. "The rope snapped in the mine that was holding up the cart you and two others were loading." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Wouldn't have happened if the mining conditions weren't so bad. They've needed new ropes down there for more than a year."

"Well, why can't they get more ropes?" I asked, and Mahal nodded in satisfaction. The healer shook his head sadly. "Thror's gold sickness. It's affecting everyone. The wages are poor down in the mines, the conditions are horrible, and many have already died. Our allies have retracted, but he does not care. All he cares about is his gold." Oin's eyes grew hard, and he clenched the rag, causing water to run down good hand. I stayed quiet, horrified and fascinated. I had gone through gold sickness. I knew the obsession, the unending_ want_ that made food unappetizing and dreams haunted with that sparkling, unreachable thing. I remembered what I had almost done to Bilbo and thinking that I deserved death for wanting to kill him. He had tried to help me. And I had tried to murder him.

"Thrain, the king's son, was assassinated several months ago. No one knows who did it, but some believe the murder was arranged by Thror, or even Thorin, his son. Thrain was never taken by the sickness like his father and, even worse, his son. Thorin will have it the worst of all. Oh, it will be a sad day when he rules us!"

I could tell that Oin had wanted to rant that for quite a long time. I laid back down, a little scared. Mahal shrugged sadly and glanced at the door. Oin opened his mouth to say something, but closed out again as stamping sounded from the corridor outside. The door flew open, and I choked on nothing when my grandfather stormed in.

The last time I saw my grandfather, Azog head just cut off his head and was holding it above the battlefield.

In his prosperity, Thror was a mighty figure displaying wealth and power. Well, he would have displayed wealth and power, but it just seemed a little... much. His beard was completely filled with gold and diamond beads, his armor was míthril, and the amount of jewelry he wore went past magnificent and bordered ridiculous.

But worst of all were his eyes.

I had a few vague memories of that look. When he held the Heart of the Mountain the first time. When I watched him count the money in the Great Hall as little more than a boy. When the Arkenstone was lost in Smaug's collection of gold. But none of them were as strong as the look in his eyes at that moment. It was as if he were starving and and the best foods in the world were being dangled just out of his reach. Lust beyond sanity. He was completely and totally mad.

"We are three miners short!" he shouted at Oin, who started down at his boots. "Why are we three miners short?!"

As if a healer would know.

"My King," he replied humbly, "Yesterday a rope snapped in the Eastern mine, and three miners were dropped to the bottom. Oplin is the only one who survived." He gestured towards me, but I really did not want to be the center of this twisted version of my grandfather's attention. "The rope snapped?" he growled.

"Yes sir. If they had better-"

"Well, I'll give you the rest of the day off. But you must report break to your station tomorrow."

"But sir-" protested Oin.

"He must report!" roared Thror. "I command it! We need as many workers in the mine as possible! There is gold down there, good for the taking, yet we do not have it. Gold, lying under our- my- feet! Gold beyond grief, death, and sorrow! I must have it!" He stormed out as noisily as he came in, and Oin shook his head.

"This is not good. He doesn't understand medicine, it will be a week before you're strong enough to exert yourself again. If you push too hard, you'll have a scar for life, if not worse. But there's nothing I can do. King's orders."

He left then, ordering me to rest until I heard to go to the mines the next day. Once the door closed, the room faded and we stood on the grassy hillside once more. Mandos stood a little ways off, his hands behind his back, staring out into the blue sky. I turned back to Mahal as the golden mirror vanished into tiny wisps of smoke. "Why? Why would things be like that if Smaug had not come?"

"The love of money is the root of evil. Your kind call it gold or dragon sickness. Thror was nearly overcome by it, and it was starting to creep up in you when the dragon came. The Valar did not send the dragon- Morgoth, the Dark Lord, did- but Eru, as well as us others, allowed it."

"Well, couldn't you have prevented the gold sickness?"

Mahal smiled gently, but there was a heavy tinge of sadness underneath. "Thorin, my son. You already saw why the Valar let one bad thing happen. If you and I continued looking at one thing after another, we would spend an eternity looking at causes and effects. Come, we must go back now. Your nephews are waiting for you, as are you're brother and your forefathers, now unaffected by the gold sickness. Mandos will reunite you with them once again."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N- A few days ago, I received a request from a reviewer to write another chapter about what would have happened if Fili and Kili had survived. I try to answer requests, (though I don't do slash) and so I'm going to try to incorporate it as smoothly as I can. As always, I do not own any part of the magnificent Middle Earth series. Reviews are the only way I'm paid. **

Fili blinked, stepping up to the iron gate, where the two Valar stood. Mahal smiled down at the young prince. "I am Mahal, Prince Fili, nephew of Thorin Oakenshield. I am the Creator of dwarves and the lord of Stone and Craft. This is Mandos, lord of the dead."

Fili bowed quickly, then stood up, gently feeling his back to see if the stab wound was still there. "What about Kili? What happened to him? Did he survive? Is he alive? Can-"

Mahal held up a hand. "In your time, the battle is over. Kili died, as did your uncle Thorin."

Fili collapsed to the path, burying his head in his hands. "So the line of Durin has ended. Kili- how did he die?"

Mahal gently put his hand on the prince's shoulder. "Do your really want to know?"

Fili looked up, somewhat comforted by the Vala's gentle power. "Not really. Where is he?"

Mahal turned again, walking back towards the gate. "He has not woken yet. I wanted to speak to you all separately. Come."

Fili jumped and put his hand to his belt as the scenery changed into a stony path with a gray cliff towering on one side. "Ered Luin, the Blue Mountains," he muttered. "Are we there?"

Mahal continued to walk. "Not exactly. It's rather complicated. As I told your uncle-"

"Thorin? You spoke with Thorin? Where is he?"

Mahal huffed in irritation. "He is reuniting with his father and grandfather. Do you want to hear what I have to say or not?"

"Forgive me, Mahal," murmured Fili hastily, and the lord of dwarves continued. "Before you pass into Mandos' domain, the Valar have decided to grant you a final wish. You may choose one thing to see or to happen or understand. I will give you a few of your mortal minutes to decide." Mahal stepped back, watching the ravens fly over the sheer rock. Fili hesitated, then said, "One thing to happen. Give Kili another chance at life, let him live once more."

Mandos made a low, rumbling noise in the back of his throat, and Mahal raised his eyebrows. "My, Fili. That has never been done before, to my knowledge, rarely if so. I would have to consult-"

The air next to Mahal bent and folded, a cloud of mist forming the shape of a man then solidifying. An elf like person walked out of the cloud with a crown set with thousands of miniature Arkenstones on his blond hair. Both the Valar dropped to their knees, and Fili followed their example. After a moment, the man said in a deep, booming voice, "Rise, Valar and mortal. I am Eru, the One, and Creator of Middle Earth."

He turned to Fili, who saw his eyes were dark brown, almost black, and could not tear his gaze away. Eru stared at him for several seconds, then said, "I can see your motives. They are pure, and out of love for your brother you want to send him back. I will allow it. Kili shall cheat death just this once. Now go with Mahal, young one, go with Mahal."  
***

Kili blinked. It was nearly dark, and the sounds of battle nearby had faded, to mostly footsteps and an occasional moan. He touched his side, wincing slightly as the broken armor cut his finger. _It's a good thing Thorin gave me that míthril,_ he thought to himself. _The company, where are they?_

Standing up, he looked around. He still lay on the mountainside- he must have hit his head or something when the goblin stabbed at him- and could hear the voices below him. "No. I don't know where he is." It was Bilbo speaking. "I haven't seen him, but I know Thorin and Fili are dead. I saw them." Kili started running down the rough steps, his head spinning. "Bilbo! Bil-bo -" He stumbled and the little hobbit ran up to meet him.

"Kili? Kili! You're alive!"

The prince hugged Bilbo, then pulled back and studied the dirty face. "Thorin and Fili are dead?"

Bilbo nodded, tears making tracts in the blood and dirt on his face. "But you're alive. Dain in alive. As far as I can tell, the rest of the company is alive." Kili sank to the ground, curling into as much of a ball as his armor would allow. Bilbo sat next to him for several minutes, not speaking but sharing the silence and looking over the bodies of all five armies scattered over the plains. As the stars started twinkling in the deepening twilight, he noticed the broken armor where Kili had been stabbed. "You're hurt? Are you hurt? We need to get you to Oin-"  
Kili shook his head. "I'm fine. Let Oin deal with the badly wounded first. But for now, let's go back to the Mountain. I want to speak to Dain."

Fili stood and watched his little brother and the hobbit descend to the plains, then walk over the battlefield to the Mountain.

"He won't always mourn is, will he?" he asked Mahal anxiously. The Valar shook his head, then started walking forward. "No, my son. Kili has already seen much hardship in his short life, and though it will impact him greatly, it will not destroy him. Now come."

At his coronation, Kili refused the Arkenstone, but put it on Thorin's grave, saying that it had seen enough bad things and did not want it to even possibly see some more. He paid Bard and the rest of Lake Town richly for their damage, and played a major part in the rebuilding of the city of Dale. Instead of backing off, he remained close with the Mirkwood elves and, strangely enough, became friends with Thranduil. He lived a good long life from what Fili could tell, about sixty years into the timeline, Mahal abruptly cut short. "We must go now, Fili. You have seen enough. When he dies once again he will tell you what happened."

Fili frowned, but walked forward so the mountain hall became the walkway under the Ered Luin. "Why? What happens there? Does he die? Does he get gold sickness?"

Mahal smiled. "No, it's more complicated than that. Something important happens there, but we will not discuss it here. Come, let's go see Thorin."


End file.
